When it comes to euthanasia and your man, knowing when to put him down is the hardest decision of all. I’ve buried three in the last fifteen years and believe me–it doesn’t get any easier.
I’m sharing what I’ve learned — including my mistakes — to help women who face the awful decision whether to spend $12,000 on life-saving surgery, or buy something nice for themselves; a pricey handbag that you like but don’t really need.
When it comes to the man in your life, the last thing you want to hear is his doctor say “I can save him — but it’s going to cost a lot of money.” The first time I heard those words, I thought of all the fun “Chip” would miss out on if he died young, like the place in Florida I’d buy when he was gone, and the “early-bird” specials he loved. He could have kept eating steaks into his golden years, but that way lies a heart attack — which can be very painful.
Chip was a happy, healthy 52-year-old with all of his hair who unfortunately developed early-onset incontinence. I could see myself tending to his yucky needs and buying adult diapers for two, maybe three decades more while his retirement savings dwindled down to nothing.
Should I have pulled the plug sooner? It’s hard to say. I made a video of Chip one day as he ran to the bathroom after eating fish tacos, and I can barely stand to watch it now — even with the sound muted! He was in obvious pain, and rather than have him ruin the Oriental rug in the dining room with an “accident,” I decided it was time to end his suffering.
I put anti-freeze in his green sports drink — they’re practically the same color, so he didn’t notice. Then I held him in my arms as he died with dignity. I am so glad I was there with him as he “entered eternal rest.” I don’t know what that means, but they say it at my church. Do I have any regrets? Well, I’ll never hear him snore again, so that’s a blessing.
“Fred” was every woman’s dream. He took care of our tax returns, local, state, and federal–and we never had to file for an extension. He would surprise me with the most creative deductions — turns out bridge club snacks are business expenses if you’re a realtor and talk about comparable sales with the other “gals” between tricks and trumps.
Fred came down with a case of West Nile virus — and we never even went to Africa! I suspect it was the water hazard on the 17th hole at our country club, Glen Loch Pines Acres, which gets kind of “mosquito-y” in the summer. Eddie — the golf pro — told me to be careful out there, and to come back to lie down in his office if I got overheated.
We — or perhaps I should say “I” — was looking at a long treatment for Fred just to keep his seizures under control. The neurologist gave him ten years — what some people call a “decade”–to live. Rather than see Fred dwindle down to a shadow of his former self, I made the tough call to end his life sooner rather than later. People don’t realize that this horrible disease is milder in children than adults, so why take a chance when things are only going to get worse? I would do the same for our dog and cat, so in a sense I owed it to Fred to treat him the same as any other mammal in the house.
I made a scrapbook of our years together so that my children by Eddie can understand the pain that a single mosquito bite can cause. They’ll never know their “other father” as Eddie Jr. calls him. I know it’s not genetic, but I have a feeling they’ll always apply lots of insect repellent when they go outside.
And then there was “Mike.” God, he was in the prime of his life when he was cut down like a dandelion by a hedge trimmer. Trim, fit, tan — that was Mike to a “T.”
He had a smile that would light up a walk-in closet, like the one I have in the new condo I bought with the life insurance proceeds. He had such beautiful blue twinkling eyes that I’d look in to see my reflection. We were young, we were madly in love–but he had a whole-life insurance policy whose premiums grew more expensive with each passing year! I didn’t want to end up penniless with just a million dollars when he died.
I had heard of the dread scourge of fentanyl, which takes so many young lives these days. I discovered it could also take an old life like Mike’s! But it turned out to be muchmore powerful than the over-the-counter analgesic Mike used after an afternoon of tennis. There were some questions when the paramedics arrived, but how was I to know the proper dosage without the teeny-tiny warning label on regular medicine bottles that I can’t read anyway?
So these are “lessons learned,” ladies: When you buy drugs on “the street” from a dealer, you don’t get those cent-off coupons like at the big drugstore chains.
Enjoy!